


sleep and dream of sheep

by krystian



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale (Undertale), Badass Dreamtale Sans | Dream (Undertale), Brotherly Love, Caring Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Catharsis, Couch Cuddles, Dreamtale Sans | Dream (Undertale), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healing, Hot Chocolate, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Slice of Life, for the author at least lol, it's not incest man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krystian/pseuds/krystian
Summary: Sleep doesn't come easy to Dream; it never does, not anymore. But maybe he can learn to heal, and maybe, just maybe he can help Nightmare as well along the way.
Relationships: Dream & Nightmare, Sans & Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48
Collections: Quote Prompt Memes





	1. flowers for the dead

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Family You Chose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634682) by [ShadowPorpoise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowPorpoise/pseuds/ShadowPorpoise). 
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [quoteonlyprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/quoteonlyprompts) collection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt I chose was "Don’t weep for the stupid, you’ll be crying all day"
> 
> I changed the original story a bit because it felt kind of… too black and white for me. I don’t want any drama with Joku, pls, I just wanna reinterpret these characters. 
> 
> in any case, huge thanks to philocake for compiling everything [here](https://www.deviantart.com/philocake/journal/Dreamtale-Canon-Facts-Latest-Update-11-23-19-769007316) because uh. everything I know about dreamtale is other peoples’ fanfiction, fancomics and the stuff in underverse. I haven’t… actually read joku’s stuff… uhhhh… anyway! 
> 
> [the obligatory mentions:  
> Dreamtale by Jokublog  
> Dusttale by Ask-DustTale  
> Aftertale by LoverofPiggies] 
> 
> this was inspired (a lot) by ShadowPorpoise's stuff which I just. love. like, they're a really good writer and you should check out their stuff.

“You should be sleeping.”

He definitely should be sleeping, by any means. But then again, that’s the entire point, isn’t it? He should be doing this and he should be doing that, but nothing ever goes as planned. That’s just how the multiverse works. Too many unpredictable variables and all that.

And that’s exactly why Dream sighs and mutters out a quiet, “I know,” although he is certain that it will get lost in the night.

No such luck with Nightmare, however. His brother always hears all of his little utterances; he is attuned to the melody of his feelings, and he knows Dream all too well. But instead of answering, he only plops down next to Dream on the balcony, letting his tentacles spread out around them. They’re still oozing that tar-like goop, leaving traces of it all over the ground, but Dream isn’t disgusted. It’s just another aspect of his brother now – one that he hadn’t anticipated, but one that he cannot fault him for, either.

They sit in amicable silence for a while, neither of them daring to say anything, or maybe they’re just lacking the words to say it, Dream can’t tell. It’s been too long, and although Nightmare can read him like an open book, he can’t say the same about his brother. 

In these moments of quiet, Dream lets his mind wander, through the house they’re currently in and then the entire universe. Dust is around somewhere, shallow contentment pouring out of him in waves as he does whatever it is that he’s doing. Horror and Killer are probably around as well, but if they are, Dream can’t feel them, not that he expected to be able to.

Dream sighs, bracing his hands on the ground and leaning back to look up at the starry sky. He’s careful not to touch Nightmare – they had tried that, once before, and whenever he thought about it for too long, he could still feel the acid burning on his bones, eating away at him. It had taken days for him to heal, head stuffed with black goop and the miasma of pain.

They hadn’t tried again after that, no matter how much Dream wished to hug his brother, to take him into his arms and tell him all will be right with time. Even if that would be a lie; because Nightmare would know that it is a lie but at least the mindless formalities would be out of the way.

Dream doesn’t know when he’d gotten this cynical, and it makes tears well up in his eye sockets that he tries to suppress, because they’re not wanted, not needed, not right now, maybe never, he can’t waste any more time with crying about pointless things.

And next to him, Nightmare snorts, shifting a little where he’s sitting. But it’s not a mean snort, it simply acknowledges him. And he knows fully well the extent of the problem when he says, “Don’t weep for the stupid, you’ll be crying all day,” and when he points down at where they can see Dust and Horror passing beneath them, completely oblivious to anything that’s going on up here. But then again, that’s what they must feel like to the stars as well; far out of reach, as if existing in a completely different world.

He’s so taken aback that he snorts as well, an ugly little noise that builds in the back of his throat and emerges out of his mouth, even when he tries to suffocate it with his gloved hand. “Don’t be- don’t be so mean,” he rasps out, turning his chuckle into a cough although that – of course – is pointless when Nightmare is involved.

Perhaps that’s what Nightmare tried to accomplish, because although Dream knows that he’s just trying to distract him, it does help, at least a little. Not by much – whatever part of him died along with Nightmare’s light-heartedness back on that fateful day will never come back, he knows that by now – but it makes the burden easier to bear, lifts some of the sorrow that was brooding inside of him, that Nightmare could surely feel because otherwise he wouldn’t have found Dream, wouldn’t have wanted to talk to him.

“It’s not mean if it’s the truth,” Nightmare says, then, almost like an afterthought. He shifts a little again, goop spreading out around him. It’s so black that it swallows all the light, almost indistinguishable from the dark sky above them. Nightmare is a lot more patient than before, that much is true, but he still can’t keep his curiosity in check, or the mild concern that’s bordering on worry, the kind that Dream can feel with every fibre of his being, that pools at the tips of his fingers. “So why aren’t you sleeping?” he asks after a few more seconds of silence.

Dream sighs, again, and it feels as if that’s the only thing he’s doing nowadays, sighing and worrying and simply, _stupidly_ , not doing his job. He wrings his hands in his lap, tugs at his gloves and looks anywhere but at Nightmare, Nightmare who won’t understand, can’t understand, because they’re not the same after all, never will be. Because Nightmare is doing his job, isn’t he? And Dream is afraid to do his own. “I don’t know,” he answers at last, lamely, the words not holding any significance whatsoever, but Nightmare doesn’t push him, never does anymore. Maybe he’s scared as well, scared of pushing Dream away again, but that’s a stupid thought because Nightmare’s not afraid of anything, not really, it was always Dream who’s been afraid, afraid of thunderstorms and the dark and everything negative, but never of Nightmare, even if negativity was the epicentre of his very being. “I don’t know,” he repeats softly, because he really doesn’t know.

“Can’t sleep?” Nightmare asks, and Dream is almost happy that he’s so talkative today, but he doesn’t feel like being happy. He’s not sad per se, he just feels sort of numb, which is laughable, really, because the guardian of positivity shouldn’t feel numb, but he does anyway. “Bad dreams?”

He shakes his head even though he knows that Nightmare isn’t looking at him, hands fisting in the fabric of his cape. “Not really, no,” he says, and Nightmare only hums in response. They’re both gazing up at the stars now, lost in their cold glimmer that paints the universe - no, _their_ universe – shades of silver, silver that looks like a silken blanket had been placed over everything, like snow, like quicksilver, like an emotion Dream can’t name. It is mesmerizing, no matter how often he sees it. He opens his mouth to say something else but closes it at the last second, words stuck in his throat; if Nightmare notices it, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he only reaches out, with his aura, with his soul, with that darkness inside him that makes him disappear completely from Dream’s radar, and tugs at his own golden soul that shines ever-brightly inside his own chest like a lantern in the dark. It doesn’t hurt, not in the slightest, because Nightmare is careful, as if Dream might break at any given moment, as if he’s some sort of fragile glass figurine, as if the bones he’s made of are brittle and shatterable.

And – to his own surprise – he reaches back, tentatively, links his own soul with Nightmare’s until they mingle, creating a neutral colour that Dream can’t put into words, one that is neither warm nor cold, neither here nor there. It’s more of a dance than anything else, really, a wild, macabre dance that is soft around the edges like Dream, but harsh and unrelenting like Nightmare, one that never stops but has to keep on going until both of them have bled dry because then, and only then are they allowed to stop, and perhaps not even then. Because that’s what balance is about, Dream supposes.

So he draws back, sealing off his soul with a wall so thick that not even Nightmare has any chance of breaking through, and his eye sockets are glued to the moon when Nightmare makes a small, disappointed noise in the back of his throat, one that Dream hasn’t heard in centuries, one that he never wants to hear again, one that he is responsible for, and he’s pretty sure that the guardian of positivity shouldn’t feel this either, but he’s still Dream, first and foremost, not a guardian but himself, a person, a brother, someone. Anyone.

“You’ve changed,” Nightmare says, still not looking at him, and Dream almost laughs, almost, nearly, but never quite, because his laugh turns into a sob and he has to stifle it before it escapes his mouth, tries to stifle any and every sort of emotion but something seeps through the cracks in the wall, the ones that he had neglected so carelessly, and now Nightmare’s looking at him with his one eye, and he seems hurt and Dream can’t blame him because he also feels hurt, even when he’s not supposed to, when it’s not his place.

“Is change inherently bad?” he asks instead _(even though he knows he hasn't changed, not at all, why can't Nightmare see that?)_ to deflect Nightmare’s incoming storm of questions, about how he’s feeling and why he’s like this and why he can’t be happy for once and other why’s and how’s that Dream can’t answer, doesn’t want to answer because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand himself any more than Nightmare does. “I mean, you changed as well, and you’re still… you, so it can’t be that bad. To change.”

“I suppose not,” Nightmare relents, still eyeing him warily, because he always knows what’s up, he’s always been perceptive like that when Dream’s been oblivious, naïve, and so, so, so incredibly stupid. “But you’re still acting weird. And that’s saying something.” He raises an eyebrow and Dream understands that he just made a joke, but he can’t do much more than forcing a half-hearted smile onto his face that wouldn’t even fool Blue with how obviously fake it is. “So what’s up? And no more of that I-don’t-know crap, alright?”

And honestly, Dream is getting tired of it, and he can feel the tears burn in his eye sockets, building up like a flood behind a dam, so he buries his head in his arms and blocks out the light. “I just don’t know anymore, Night,” he starts and his voice sounds so hoarse that he almost doesn’t recognize it. “I don’t know if what we did was right, and I don’t know if we can keep going on like this, I don’t know if I want it to go on like this, I don’t know a lot of things and that scares me and I hate it because I shouldn’t be scared, I’m not allowed to be scared and I sometimes wish- I wish someone else had to bear my- _our_ burdens because it’s not _fair_ and I don’t want- I don’t want to…”

He trails off although Nightmare didn’t interrupt him, voice lost in the dark that seems too large right now, too much. “I know,” Nightmare says after a few seconds, and his voice is heavy with an emotion Dream can’t name because there’s so many emotions that he hasn’t experienced, that he didn’t get to experience and probably never will experience, that are forbidden to him and only him, that he doesn’t deserve, just as Nightmare, and their only difference is that Nightmare has it worse, that Dream has no right to complain because Nightmare always had it worse, other people have it worse than him, he’s just-

But before he can get lost in his thoughts, Nightmare is talking again, that old, familiar rumble that he missed so much, that he didn’t get to hear for so long. “But someone has to do the job. And we were unlucky enough to get chosen. It’s not fair, it never will be, but that’s life. And we can either grow up and learn to live with it or- well, you know the alternative. It’s our burden to bear, our responsibility, but you and I, we’re strong. And-” Nightmare’s embarrassed, he can feel it; perhaps only because Nightmare isn’t hiding it, isn’t hiding behind any walls, because he’s not like Dream, he’s stronger than Dream in any way that matters- “and I think that, together, we can do it.”

“Are you suggesting that we work together?” he jokes but Nightmare doesn’t laugh.

“I’m saying it’s worth a try,” he adds after an unnecessary long stretch of silence, not looking at Dream. “I can feel you’re upset – I know, you didn’t want me snooping around your emotions, but they’re quite hard to ignore when they’re this pronounced, and I’ll admit that I haven’t always been… the best brother, perhaps, but it’s worth a try.”

And isn’t it almost a little comical that Nightmare is the one to offer it, the one who had encased him in a prison of stone for a century, trapped inside his own thoughts, and he hates himself for thinking like that when his brother clearly hadn’t been in his right mind at the time, but the thought is there nevertheless, and if it’s there, Nightmare can also feel it, can feel his hesitation.

The tentacles draw back beside him, retreating into the goop on Nightmare’s back. “You have every right to be upset, and I wouldn’t blame you if you refused, but I think- I think it’s time we grow up, Dream. Time that we stop playing around and actually do our jobs, the ones that we were created for. I won’t stop you from leaving and I won’t force you to work with me, but I want you to know that- that I want to work with you. And that I wouldn’t want to work with anyone other than you.”

He’s never heard Nightmare talk this much, not since he asked him to read him stories when they were kids, and it touches that small, little part of his golden soul that he tried to shut off from the world, the one that’s slowly but surely crumbling away, and he has to turn away before Nightmare sees his tears. “I want to work with you, too,” he says, wiping at his eyes, “but how much good will that do? It’ll always end the same way, won’t it?”

Nightmare sighs again, leaning back on his hands. “As long as we’re alive, we have the chance to make right what we did wrong, to fix things. Sure, we’re gonna make mistakes, but that’s just part of being alive. And it hurts like hell, yeah. It always will. I’ve ruined universes, I’ve hurt people that I care about – but I want to start anew. With you. If you’ll let me.”

His own choice, perhaps for the first time in his entire life. His choice, and his alone. Nightmare is letting him choose. “You can’t just eradicate the mistakes of your past,” Dream argues weakly.

Snorting, Nightmare lets his tentacles unfurl once again, reaching upwards into the dark sky. “I’m not trying to. I’ll own up to what I did wrong, and I’ll try to make things right, but I need you to re-establish the balance that I destroyed. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though.”

Beneath them, Geno and Sixbones pass, chatting quietly – well, Geno is doing the talking. Sixbones just seems excited. Dream can’t help but smile a little. “I won’t,” he says, and when he glances over to where Nightmare is sitting, he can almost see his brother, what he looked like before all the goop came, small and timid and shy, but it’s gone in an instant, just a trick of his eye sockets or the silver light or his imagination.

That Nightmare doesn’t exist anymore, hasn’t existed for a very long time now, but maybe that’s alright, too. Maybe that’s what change is about.

And Nightmare makes a show of heaving a relieved sigh.

Dream giggles quietly, closely followed by a yawn that he tries to cover with his hand. “Night?” he asks after it has passed, and Nightmare only hums in acknowledgment. “Can you stay with me tonight? Just until I’ve fallen asleep?” It’s a bold request, one that he hasn’t made in ages, but perhaps that’s progress as well.

“Sure,” Nightmare answers after a while, long after Dream started to contemplate taking his words back, and his voice is unnaturally low. “Want me to- you want me to read to you?”

“Yeah,” Dream breathes out, letting his gaze wander to the moon one last time before getting up, dusting himself off. “I think I’d like that.”

They’re not quite there yet, at the point they want to reach, but they’re getting there. Dream’s been hurt one too many times by the people he called his friends and Nightmare’s been suffering alone for way too long, but they’re healing, slowly, learning to trust each other, and maybe that’s alright as well.

* * *

He’s never seen Nightmare sleep like this, Dream realizes as he shuffles out of his bed and tiptoes around Nightmare who’s sleeping in a chair, head resting on the palm of his hand. He almost looks relaxed, apart from the slight crease in the goop where his eyes would be. He’s carefully quiet when he drapes one of his blankets over Nightmare’s shoulder, one that he’ll probably have to wash again the following day, and takes the book out of his brother’s lap to place it on the table.

It’s still late at night, or maybe it’s early morning, the threshold between the two, moon and sun meeting somewhere in the middle, and he leaves his room, softly shuts the door behind him because it’s good that Nightmare’s catching some sleep, he never sleeps enough, and then he finds himself in the kitchen or whatever counts as the kitchen in this house, making himself a hot chocolate when Geno stumbles in, bleary-eyed and tugging at his scarf. “Can I have one as well?” he mumbles so quietly that Dream almost doesn’t catch it.

But the soft happiness that Geno emits when he nods is enough for him, enough for now; so he adds some milk to the pot, perpetually stirring because that’s what you do when you have milk on the stove _(he’s learned that after a lot of trial and error with Blue)_. “Could you grab two mugs, then, please?” he asks because he also knows that people like to feel included and that it’s good to make them feel needed.

Geno nods and clatters around, trying not to throw the cupboard doors too hard or clink the mugs too much, but somehow Dust must’ve heard because now he’s standing in the kitchen as well, watching them, and when Dream asks him if he wants a mug as well, he just nods and goes into the living room, plopping down on the couch and turning on the TV.

Together, Geno and Dream finish the hot chocolate and distribute it evenly, carrying the mugs into the living room where Dust is already hidden beneath a mountain of blankets, staring blankly at the screen. Dream hands him his mug and then watches as Geno settles down beside him, shifting on his feet almost nervously until Geno looks up at long last and raises a non-existent eyebrow at him. “Well? Aren’t you gonna sit down?” And as if by a silent command, both of them move to create space between them with Geno patting the spot. “C’mon, we don’t bite.”

And Dream relents, squeezing into the tight space, Geno to his right and Dust to his left, neither of them paying attention to him, and if he’s being honest, that’s just what he wants right now, so he gradually relaxes back into the cushions, the bones of his hands curled around the hot mug.

“Y’know, you’re not half bad,” Geno says after a while, sipping from his own mug, eye sockets still glued to the screen. “Nightmare shoulda brought you here sooner. Coulda used someone like you around here.” Dust nods on his other side, and somehow that’s too much, somehow that’s the last straw, the final crack in the dam, and the tears are running down his bony cheeks even though he tries to wipe them away.

“Oh shit,” Geno breathes next to him, all worry and concern and uncertainty, “did I say something wrong?”

But Dream only laughs harder, which turns into an ugly sob, because he couldn’t be further from the truth. “N-no,” he says shakily because he doesn’t really trust his own voice to work. “No, it’s alright. It’s alright.”

Geno still looks slightly concerned but Dream only waves him off and raises his own mug to hide the lower half of his face with it, sipping at it absentmindedly as the tears dry on his face, and that’s when Dust points at the screen and mutters something along the lines of, "Don't cry for dumb people because then you'll be wailing all day," and that's really not how the saying goes but both him and Geno are already laughing and he’s spit out the hot chocolate all over his hands and it hurts, but in a good way and he’s pretty sure that Geno emptied half of his cup over his lap with the way he’s cursing, but it’s alright.

It’s alright.

* * *

Nightmare comes down the next morning only to find Dream and Dust sleeping on the couch beneath heaps of blankets, Dream drooling all over him which Dust doesn’t seem to mind. He only rolls his eye light and looks over to Geno who’s sitting at the kitchen table, languidly studying a newspaper that might as well be decades old. “They’re gonna hurt their spines if they sleep like that,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“Are you worried?” Geno snorts, turning the page. 

“Eat shit.”

But Geno only laughs quietly before he lets his gaze wander over to where they’re still sleeping on the couch, undisturbed. “They both need all the sleep they can get.”

And perhaps he’s right. Nightmare just clicks his tongue before tugging the blanket that had slid off Dream’s shoulders up again, draping it around him. Dream sighs into the touch. “I guess,” he grumbles, watching his brother for a few seconds. He almost looks peaceful like that, none of the worry lines from before marring his face.

Maybe it’ll be alright, with enough time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a kiss (on the cheek) for the first star in the sky
> 
> anyhow, my finals start in less than a week and i'm writing... this... instead. got my priorities straight, i know. guess i gotta get back to studying now.


	2. this spot marks our grave, but you may rest here too, if you would like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no idea why i suddenly thought this needed a second chapter but here it is. 
> 
> i've thought about writing this for a few days but didn't get the chance until now cause I was high on painkillers after my wisdom teeth were extracted. it hurt like hell btw, even though literally everyone told me that it'll be fine. also i nearly passed out during surgery and i wish they would've let me pass out but nooo, they just had to keep me awake.
> 
> [obligatory mentions pt2:  
> Killertale by Rahafwabas  
> Horrortale by Sour-Apple Studios  
> Underfell by Vic the Underfella  
> XTale by Jakei95]
> 
> music recommendation of the day is this [Primrose, the Dancer](https://youtu.be/W-oQTu_NXhk) cover from Octopath Traveler right here, which I honestly adore

Dream wakes up with his spine hurting and a sort of pounding behind his temples. Dust is staring at him, still halfway hidden beneath the blanket. “Morning?”

Dust nods, crawling back a little to give Dream some space to get up. They’re alone in the living room, the TV still blaring in the background, only accompanied by the soft sound of rain pelting against the dirty windows. It’s early morning at most; Dream is still tired. He’d probably go right back to sleep if Dust wasn’t staring at him like that. “So…” he starts anew, heaving himself upwards and swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, “where are the others?”

Shrugging, Dust languidly gets up, shuffling a few feet away, hands in his pockets. He’s dragged his hood over his head again, and his eye sockets are barely visible because of the shadows it casts on half of his face, but Dream doesn’t need to see his face to know what he’s feeling. There’s nothing in his gaze, nothing in his soul. He’s just… blank. It would be disconcerting if he hadn’t seen the same in Nightmare. Dream buries his hands in the blanket.

“Wanna… get some breakfast?” he asks, because he’s not quite sure what else to say. And he doesn’t want to upset Dust, either. He doesn’t know these people, doesn’t know how they will react to someone like him, and he surely doesn’t want to test his luck. But breakfast seems harmless enough.

Dust shrugs again. “Sure,” he says. His voice is scratchy, as if he hasn’t used it in a very long time. “We’d like some breakfast.”

Dream doesn’t as who _‘we’_ is. He can kind of guess at it, with the way Dust keeps stealing glances at the empty spot right next to him, but he doesn’t feel inclined to ask. It’s not his place. He doesn’t belong here. So he only smiles, drags the corners of his mouth upwards and hopes that’s enough. “Alright, then! Into the kitchen!” With renewed vigour he leads them into the small kitchen that looks like it hasn’t been stocked in ages, Dust trailing behind him, dragging his feet on the hardwood floor.

Dust settles down on the chair at the table and watches as Dream rummages around in the drawers and the fridge to look for anything they can use. Technically he doesn’t need to eat, but it still is nice to have a warm meal from time to time. Blue always made sure he ate and slept enough. The memory sends a wave of pain through his body. “So how long have you been here, Dust?” he asks conversationally, dropping the happy expression now that his back is turned to Dust. No need to play pretend when no one is watching, and honestly, who is he fooling with that smile anyway?

He doesn’t see Dust from where is standing, but he can hear his slippers on the tiles, his skeletal fingers on the wooden table. “We come and go,” he says, and Dream wonders if that pertains to all of them or just Dust and the second part of the _we_.

It doesn’t really answer his question, but he just nods and keeps on looking through the drawers. There’s not a lot in this kitchen, and Blue would probably have a breakdown if he ever set foot into this house _(Dream can’t really complain; he’s never had a real_ home, _so who’s he to judge?)_ but Blue isn’t here and Dream will make do with what they have. He scoops his find up in his arms and then stalks over to the table to drop it in front of Dust who stares back with unseeing eyes. “Not a lot to choose from,” he says, sifting through the stuff, “but it’ll be fine!”

Dust still isn’t paying attention to him, but Dream doesn’t particularly mind. He likes the quiet, from time to time. “Say, Dust, can you cook?” he asks, and that seems to snap Dust out of his thoughts, and there’s a cyan-carmine glimmer beneath his hood, one that makes Dream take a step back and instinctively reach for a staff that isn’t there before he remembers, remembers that the others are probably not going to hurt him as long as he is under Nightmare’s protection, and isn’t that kind of funny?

Not really.

“No,” Dust says after a long minute of silence, shaking his head. The glimmer is gone, as if it had never existed. And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it had just been another figment of Dream’s hyperactive imagination. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

He breathes out through his nose, although he doesn’t really need to. “I mean… I’m not really good at cooking either, but it’s always worth a try, right?” He doesn’t expect Dust to answer the rhetorical question so he isn’t surprised when he’s met with silence. “Alright then. Let’s just give it our best and see how it goes!” He rolls his sleeves up, shooting Dust another wobbly smile. Dust doesn’t smile back.

It doesn’t exactly… go as planned.

* * *

“What were you guys thinking?” Geno asks, swiping a heap of flour off the table and onto the floor. Dream frowns, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“We just… wanted to make breakfast,” he says lamely. It sounds guilty, even to his own ears.

“… right.” Geno’s not looking convinced, but he doesn’t press him for another answer either. Dust has disappeared somewhere after the plan had gone sideways, leaving Dream alone with this mess. He sighs.

“I- I’m sorry,” he says after the silence drags on for way too long. Geno’s still staring at the flour on the floor. “I’ll go get a dustpan.” He moves to scurry off, just to leave the uncomfortable silence, but Geno shakes his head.

“Don’t bother.” The white, glitching particles around his right eye socket shudder for a second. Dream subconsciously takes backs away a few feet. Then, Geno reaches for a roll of paper and wipes the flour of the floor, disposing it in a nearby trashcan. “There, all done.” He smiles softly at Dream. “Seriously, have you never cooked before?”

Dream frowns again, indignant. “I- uh, I mean- no, why- when would I, after all, I’ve- I was…” he stutters. Geno’s smile drops.

“Oh. Right.” An awkward silence encases them once again, settling over them like a blanket until Dream clears his throat.

His hands are shaking slightly, he notes, as he tugs at his fingers, one by one. “I never… needed to learn how to cook, you know?” he says softly. “Back then, people were always happy to help me out with whatever I wanted as long as I gave them the happiness they so desired.”

Geno is listening, head tilted to one side. There’s something like sympathy in his gaze, in his hands when he motions for Dream to take a seat at the table and then drops down on the chair across him. He rests his cheek on his upturned palm, willing him to go on.

“And I just… took that for granted I guess. Until that day, at least.” He doesn’t specify what day he means. Either Nightmare has told them or he hasn’t – it’s not his place. It never is. “Sometimes I wonder if I have changed at all. Or if I’m still that child from back then. I guess I must be, huh?” He chuckles although there is no humour in his words.

Geno just looks at him for a minute, silently scrutinizing him. “You must have changed,” he finally says, “in some way or other. No one stays the same after all of that.” Dream suspects he may be talking about himself, but he isn’t about to ask.

Dream sighs. “I still feel like it most of the time, though.” He takes his glove off and raises his hand to his face, closing it and watching the way the bones interact with one another. “I feel like I haven’t changed at all. And I fear Nightmare will see that, too.” Perhaps it’s for the best, if Nightmare sees who he really is. No more hiding. No more pretending.

Across him, Geno hums softly. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“He wouldn’t understand.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, although he isn’t really sure. Geno doesn’t need to know that, however, not if Dream can help it. Rain is still pelting against the window, leaving tracks in the dirt.

Geno sighs, playing with the scarf around his neck. It’s crimson, like blood. “I think it’s hard to see the bigger picture when you’re part of the puzzle,” he finally says, looking out at the overcast sky. “And not all of us are as bad as we might seem at first. Misfits will always be welcome here.”

“I never said-” Dream starts, but Geno raises his hand to shush him.

“You might never have said it out loud, but you can’t tell me that you never at least _thought_ it,” he snickers, dragging his scarf up so it covers his mouth. “They- we all do. I guess at first glance, we must seem pretty terrifying. And most people wouldn’t consider us ‘good’ people, per se.”

“Are you?” Dream tilts his head. “Good, I mean. Are you good people?”

“What do you think?” Geno asks back, smiling behind that scarf.

He’s never really thought about it. What makes someone good? Doing good deeds? What are good deeds and who chooses which are which?

“Don’t strain yourself,” Geno laughs, and Dream furrows his brow bone at him. “If you want to know, I don’t really think there’s such a thing as good or bad people. Good people can do bad things and bad people can do good things. It’s as simple as that.”

It makes sense, to a certain extent. Dream nods. “I- thank you, Geno. For listening to me.”

Geno grins, getting up from his chair and walking over towards Dream just to place his hand on Dream’s head, patting him softly. “You’re welcome. Don’t forget to talk to your brother, alright?” He snickers again. “Both of you are affecting everyone here, so sort out your feelings before someone else does it for you.”

He blushes yellow and averts his eyes. “I- I will.”

Geno nods and closes his eye socket for a second. “Good boy. At least you listen to me. I knew you were smarter than your brother.”

It makes Dream’s soul swell with pride.

* * *

“Hey, lil’ sunshine prince,” someone calls out to him as he hides beneath the balcony he’d been sitting on just a few hours prior, watching the rain pitter-patter on the ground. A little surprised he turns around, only to see Killer and Horror coming towards him. Horror looks positively disinterested, but Killer is emitting a weird kind of energy that Dream can’t quite decipher, neither contented nor upset.

He rubs his eyes before raising his hand and waving at them, not minding the nickname. “Hello,” he greets them, scuffling back a little to create space for them as they join him under the overhang, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his tunic.

Killer grins at him, all teeth, and comes to stand right beside him. “Heard about the disaster this morning,” he says conversationally, and Dream groans on the inside.

“Where did you hear that from?” he asks, hands leaving the comfort of his pockets to tug his cape tighter around himself. There’s thunder growling in the distance. He wishes he was somewhere else.

Killer shrugs. “Someone.” That smile is still on his face, not that Dream had expected it to go away anytime soon. “Quite the commotion you caused, huh?”

Dream looks at the overgrown garden, stilling his trembling hands. “I- I’m sorry?” he tries, although he doesn’t really know what he’s apologizing for. Surely Nightmare would have talked to him if he’d actually done something that would have brought about consequences. There’s muddy water in his boots.

Killer snorts next to him, but before he can say anything, Horror opens his mouth.

“Shouldn’t he have killed you by now?”

Dream freezes. The wind changes direction; the rain is cold as it pelts against his face. It’s completely silent for a second.

Killer snorts again, louder this time. “How silly, of course Nightmare is not gonna kill his brother. That would be a real tragedy, wouldn’t it?”

He’d been afraid of Dust, certainly, but even Dust is nothing compared to these two. But he swallows his fear, turns around and looks Horror straight into his one, glaring red eye light. “I can go if you don’t want me here,” he says, hoping that his voice isn’t as shaky as his hands. “I’m not afraid of you.”

At the end of the day, as bad as they might be, they’re nothing compared to the literal horrors he’s already faced.

“You should be,” Killer chimes in. “Just because some people here like you doesn’t mean that everyone does. Don’t forget who we are, sunshine.”

It’s grating on his nerves, that nickname; Killer says it with such nonchalance, completely free of malice or bitterness, that Dream feels physically sick. He doesn’t comment on it. “If you want me gone, why don’t you do something about it?” he asks instead, petulant, like a child.

Killer stretches next to him, taking a step back so the rain doesn’t hit him in the face anymore. “Who’s saying that it’s us who wanna get rid of you? There are a lot more people here than you might realize at first.”

“And besides,” Horror continues, “it’d upset him. And then we’d have to deal with the consequences, without your pacifying magic bullshit.”

He has nothing to say to that, so he just clenches his shaking fist beneath his cape. “I can help you,” he finally says with as much bravery as he can muster, “whatever’s happened to you, I can help you overcome it.” And he reaches out to Killer, with his hand, not his soul, but Killer only snatches his hand out of the air and grips it as if he wants to break every bone in Dream’s body.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he snarls, abruptly letting go as if the touch burnt him. “I don’t need you fixing me, sunshine. I don’t need any fixing at all.”

Dream absentmindedly rubs his wrist, trying to suppress the small smile that’s flitting across his face. “Alright,” he says soothingly, placating, “I won’t do it again.”

“You’d better not,” Killer frowns at him, taking a step back as if he’s scared of Dream, which is just laughable. Dream isn’t scary. He couldn’t be scary even if he wanted to. He scrutinizes Dream for a few seconds before shaking his head, hands wandering back into his pockets. Then he sighs. “You’re fine, I guess,” he grumbles under his breath before turning towards Horror. “C’mon, we’re going.”

They both turn around, but then Horror pulls something out of his pocket and throws it towards Dream who flinches at the unexpected motion, hands coming up to shield his face but when the object hits his fingers it’s not sharp so he catches it, looks at it and freezes again. It’s an apple, crimson and ripe.

Horror and Killer cackle as they begin to walk away, grey fog already obscuring their forms. “Think of it as a welcome gift, sunshine,” Killer yells at him from afar, his voice only drowned out by the thunder that’s cracking in the distance. “See ya around.”

The apple lands in the first trashcan he comes across before Nightmare even has the chance to see it.

* * *

He’s dropping his cape and crown off somewhere in the kitchen even though it makes him feel more vulnerable in this world than anything else _(but his clothes are soaked from the rain and his crown weighs heavy atop his head)_ when the distinct sound of metal striking metal reverberates in the house, only amplified by its sheer emptiness. It’s a harsh, grating sound, one that makes Dream’s teeth vibrate in his mouth, and it’s kind of driving him insane, so he decides to get to the bottom of it.

The first few rooms he inspects are all devoid of life, and he’s close to giving up when the third door that he knocks on suddenly swings open, making him stumble into the person standing in the doorway. They’re glaring down at him, and he straightens himself immediately, his hand shooting up to rub at the back of his head.

“What do you want, asshole?” Red glares at him, his golden tooth flashing in the dim light. Behind him is Cross, attacking something with his oversized sword. “Can’t see we’re busy, huh? You gone blind? Is that it?”

“Busy with what?” Dream asks, already stepping past Red and into the room. Red grumbles and closes the door behind him, resuming his spot on the floor while Dream looks around the room.

Red grinds his teeth together as Cross completely ignores them, hacking and slashing his way through a myriad of what looks like metal dummies. “Team building exercise,” he presses out between clenched teeth as Dream drops down onto the floor a few feet away from him.

“Wait what?” Dream asks before snorting, gaze flitting between the two of them. “Why?”

Red is glaring at him again, daring him to say anything else. “Because we have to, idiot. You think I want this?” He clicks his tongue. “Nah, forget about it. No way in hell.”

The clashing of metal stops for a second as Cross lowers his sword and comes towards them, squatting in front of Dream. “He’s new,” he notes, looking at Red for clarification who only rolls his eyes. “Who’s he?”

He gives Cross a grin that the other doesn’t reciprocate. “Hi, I’m Dream,” he introduces himself although he of course already knows who Cross is. It’s not like they haven’t met before, even if Cross might not remember it.

Cross nods at him. “I’m Cross. So how did’ya get here, dude?”

Red is grumbling next to them, but Dream is overjoyed at the prospect of someone talking to him normally, no strings attached, that he doesn’t want to shatter the illusion. “I just… had to get away from home for a little while,” he says, and while it’s not a complete lie, it does make him feel a little guilty.

“Gotcha,” Cross says, still squinting at his face. He doesn’t smile or anything, but Dream can’t feel anything negative from him, either, so it must be fine. He looks Dream up and down again. “You ever, like, really fought with someone? Red here-” he points at Red for good measure, who only snorts and rolls his eyes- “isn’t so keen on sparring, but I could use a partner and if you’re up for it, well-”

“Sure!” Dream interrupts him even though that is impolite, because he doesn’t have anything better to do and Cross doesn’t seem too bad. “Only problem is that I don’t have my staff with me at the moment, so…”

“That’s not a problem,” Cross says, getting up and walking over to a chest only to drop two moderately sized daggers into his lap. “Will these do?”

Dream carefully inspects them and is pleased to find that they’re in pretty good shape, despite the rest of the house. Must be Cross’, then. “Of course!” he says, pulling himself up from the floor as Red groans.

“Do I have to stay for this?” he grumbles. Cross sends him a dark look. “Fine! Fine, you assholes.”

“You can be the judge?” Dream offers hesitantly, weighing the daggers in his hands. They feel solid, not too heavy but not too flimsy, either.

Red only groans again.

Dream’s not a huge fan of fighting; he’s never been, if he’s being honest. but that doesn’t mean much in this world. And it’s better to be able to defend the ones you love than watching them suffer in vain. He tightens his grip, falling into his usual stance _(the one he’s practiced a thousand times with Blue)_ as he waits for Cross to do the same.

Cross is – as always – fast to react and raises his own sword into an aggressive stance almost immediately. There’s a tiny smirk on his face, as if he’s sure that he’s already won.

Dream might not like fighting, but damn him if he isn’t competitive.

“You ready to get your ass handed to you, dude?” Cross asks, charging at Dream before he even has the chance to react. He parries the first blow with twin daggers that seem tiny in comparison to Cross’ sword, wincing when metal scrapes against metal, angling his feet away and widening his stance as his arms struggle with keeping the sword away from his body.

Grinding his teeth together, he ducks under Cross’ hefty swing, narrowly avoiding taking the sword to his face. As fast as he can, he sidesteps, arm immediately coming up to shield his body from the next blow Cross is sure to deliver.

When he dodges again, Cross shoots him another smirk, closing in on him. He’s moving fast, almost faster than Nightmare. “That all you got?” he asks, “Just gonna keep dancing around, or will ya-“ He cuts himself off mid-sentence, swiftly stepping forward and lunging out to hit Dream’s unguarded left side with the hilt of his sword. Dream grimaces at the unwelcome feeling; that’ll definitely bruise tomorrow if his magic doesn’t kick in immediately. He’s not sure if his body will even heal on its own in this strange world.

He pulls back, falling into his defensive stance once again as Cross rolls his eyes at him and Red boos them from the ground. “Really? That’s how you’re gonna play? Nah, don’t think so, dude.” Dream doesn’t even have the time to blink as Cross closes in on him again, this time going for the kill.

Already seeing his life flash in front of his eyes, Dream raises both of his arms to block the incoming blow, trying to keep his own daggers steady even as his arms shake with the effort. What he wouldn’t give to have his bow right about now.

But Cross isn’t done with him; he grins at him once again, his face merely inches from Dream’s own, pressing down with all his might. Furrowing his brow bones, Dream is so immersed in trying to parry the blow, he notices way too late when Cross suddenly pulls back, making him stumble forward.

As if that isn’t enough, Cross lowers the sword, opting to go for a swift kick to Dream’s side instead, that sends him skidding over the wooden ground and straight into Red who’s still sitting on the ground. He coughs weakly as Red gloatingly slaps his cheek. “Hey, asshole, no time to sleep.”

Dream groans at him as the world spins before his eyes, pushing himself up with the help of his hands and Red’s fingers digging into his back.

“You’re not half bad, dude,” Cross admits, leaning on his sword and offering him his hand to help pull him up all the way, but Dream is having none of that. He isn’t ready to admit defeat just yet.

So instead of accepting Cross’ hand, he pushes himself up all the way, discarding his daggers. Red flinches when they land next to him. “I want a rematch. No weapons this time,” he says, raising his hands to show that he means it.

Cross raises one brow bone but nods, dropping his sword as well and resuming his stance one more. “You really think you’re up for this? No offense, but you’re kinda scrawny, kid.”

Dream only laughs. “Believe me, I’ve done this a million times.” And perhaps that’s a bit of an overstatement, but he’s not about to take it back. “Are you ready?”

Cross smirks again. “Yep,” he says, and in the blink of an eye he’s in front of Dream, swinging at him with the finesse of someone who’s been trained for combat.

But it’s really just all about getting into the rhythm. Dream ducks low, dodging beneath his arm and stepping out of the way as Cross swiftly turns around and moves his whole body into a shove that otherwise would have made him lose his balance. Cross grits his teeth together. 

Cross reaches with his other hand to pull Dream into a headlock, but he jerks back, twisting his body to break Cross’ hold on his arm. “I think-” Cross presses out between clenched teeth- “that you’re better suited for dancing than combat.”

He laughs, darting past an open palm Cross sends towards his shoulder, probably to catch him off-guard, and hooks his right foot around Cross’ knee, trying to get him to fall, but Cross somehow dodges and rolls away. Red lets out a guffaw in the back.

Dream resumes his stance from before, circling Cross who’s gotten onto his feet again and watching every small movement for a break in the pattern. Years of play-fighting with Nightmare and Blue have trained him for this.

So when Cross charges forwards _(because Cross is probably not the best strategist, that much he’s learnt by now)_ he just steps aside and watches as Cross collides with Red who’s cursing again, and before he can recover from the fall, Dream’s already there, kneeling on his back and twisting Cross’ arm backwards, cautiously enough that it doesn’t hurt. “Giving up?” he asks, panting only a little.

Cross nods from under him and Dream pats him on the back, ignoring a still cursing Red and watching as Cross rolls over, breathing heavily. “So who are you really?” he asks once he’s caught his breath, and Dream smile turns into a grimace.

“Does it matter that much?” he asks, dusting himself off as Red shoos Cross away, kicking at him with his feet. 

Shrugging, Cross gets up himself, picking up his sword once again. “You can tell me, dude. I’m not gonna judge.”

Red only looks on, amused, as Dream sighs, wringing his hands. “I- I’m Nightmare’s brother. The guardian of positive feelings,” he says, expecting to get laughed at. Because that’s always how it ends, and why would it be any different here, in his brother’s domain?

“Oh,” Cross says. “I thought you were gonna say you’re a mass murderer and kill children for fun.”

Dream splutters, raising his arms to form an x-shape in front of his body. “What? No!”

“Just kidding.” Cross rolls his eyes, grinning a little. “Be sure to come back sometime. I don’t mind having a sparring partner.” Red makes a retching sound from where he’s sitting, but Cross pays him no mind.

“See you around, then?” Dream asks, picking up the daggers and handing them over to Cross who looks grateful.

“Sure,” he says, lightly waving at Dream when he goes to leave the room. The sound of metal upon metal returns, but it doesn’t bother him that much anymore.

Dream finds that he doesn’t really fear Cross or Red; they’re probably the most normal here. Killer and Horror are just… something else, Dust is fine most of the time and Geno is too nice for it to be completely genuine – he is, after all, not completely oblivious.

But Cross and Red… well, maybe he can learn to get along with them.

* * *

Nightmare is on the balcony again, watching the stars when Dream comes up and settles down next to him. It’s not raining anymore. They just sit in silence for a few seconds.

“I want to go back, Night,” Dream says, finally, and it’s as if a huge weight has been lifted off his chest.

Nightmare seems to think about it for a second. “Back where?” he asks. He apparently doesn’t mind that Dream is using his old nickname again.

Dream shrugs. “Omega, I guess. Where Blue and Papy are.”

Nightmare snorts. “Are they-” he starts before cutting himself off, but Dream already knows what he wanted to say. He can feel the guilt churning in Nightmare’s soul, after all, the kind of guilt that is only directed at him.

_Are they more your family than I am?_

“No,” he says softly, “they’re as much of a family to me as you are, Night. But I can’t leave them like this. I can’t just walk away and expect everything to be fine.”

“I get it,” Nightmare says. “I- yeah. It’s your decision. I won’t stop you from leaving.”

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs in the dark of the night, watching as the clouds lift to let the light of the moon shine down upon them, illuminating the garden that glistens like silvery cobwebs. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

Nightmare sighs. “You don’t have to. I know it’s hurting you here,” he says, reaching out with one of his tentacles to inspect the small wound one Dream’s cheek where Cross’ sword must have nicked him. “You don’t have to come back. This is no place for you.” He draws back his tentacle at the last second, remembering what pain it had caused Dream before.

“I want to come back,” he argues, turning his head towards Nightmare. “And I will come back, whether you want it or not.” The smile he gives his brother is genuine.

“You’ve always been bull-headed,” Nightmare snorts, shaking his own head. “Do what you want, then. I won’t stop you.”

And Dream takes that to heart, leaping at his brother to pull him into a hug, even if the goop sizzles on his bones. But he only tightens his embrace until Nightmare stops struggling and slings his arms around Dream’s torso, trying not to touch him too much.

“You’re such an idiot,” he mumbles next to Dream’s ear, flinching when Dream laughs loudly.

“So are you,” he says affectionately, only pulling back when it’s getting hard to breathe. Nightmare’s looking guilty again. Dream assumes it’s because of the burn blisters that cover his bones. “C’mon, I’ll be fine,” he says with a laugh.

Nightmare nods. “Then go. They’re probably waiting for you.”

“Just as you’ll be waiting here for me?” It’s meant as a joke, but Nightmare doesn’t laugh.

“Yes. Just as I’ll be waiting here for you.” The corners of his mouth jerk slightly, and Dream appreciates the effort. “So come back whenever you want.”

Dream leans forward, pressing his forehead to his brother’s for a split second. “I will.”

And then he replaces a silvery night and a brother he loves so dearly that it hurts for a moonless night and a place he calls home _._

Blue fusses over him when he steps inside, but he laughs it off, and even Blue can’t stay angry with him when Dream is that happy.

There’s a roll of thunder in the distance; it’s always raining somewhere else.

The thought doesn’t scare him as much as it used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter for sure. no more after this. i promise. probably. 
> 
> this was really just more experimental than anything else.


End file.
